


Icing on the Cake

by freedomfightsback, PaintedVanilla



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cake, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Lazy Mornings, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Mistakes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-31
Updated: 2018-03-31
Packaged: 2019-04-16 01:16:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14153508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freedomfightsback/pseuds/freedomfightsback, https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaintedVanilla/pseuds/PaintedVanilla
Summary: “What kind of cake is this?”





	Icing on the Cake

The cake had been sitting on the counter in John’s kitchen for three days until Charles finally asked about it.

“What kind of cake is this?” he asks, looking at it on the counter; it wasn’t a very nicely made cake. It looked vaguely lopsided and the frosting on it was not well done at all.

Frances, who is sitting at the table on her phone, doesn’t look up when she answers, “I think it might be chocolate.”

“The icing is white.” Charles points out.

“The icing doesn’t always match the cake flavor.” John says from where he’s standing over the coffee pot; he’s still half asleep.

Charles looks back down at the cake for a moment, then says, “I’m going to try it.”

“Fuck yeah, cut me a slice.” Frances says lazily.

“Language.” John says flatly, but he doesn’t really seem to care that much.

Charles cuts a slice of cake for himself and a slice of cake for Frances and sits down next to her at the table. When the coffee is ready, John makes a cup for himself and a cup for Charles and slides it towards him when he sits down at the table.

“Oh, I see how it is.” Frances says, “you make your boyfriend a cup of coffee, but not me? Your  _ only daughter?” _

“You’re nineteen, you can make you own coffee.” John tells her.

“Charles is like sixty!” Frances argues.

“I’m forty-seven!” Charles says defensively.

“Exactly, Frances,” John says, “Charles is old and I love him, so I made his coffee for him.”

“We’re the same age.” Charles mutters.

“You’re picking favorites.” Frances says, standing up, “you  _ gave birth to me.” _

“You say that as if it was a fun experience.” John says, and then takes a sip of his coffee, “I only have two hands and I started making Charles’ coffee first and I also wanted coffee.”

Frances pours herself a mug of coffee and sits back down at the table; she eats a little bit of the cake, but it tastes about as good as it looks, so she gives up on it and goes back to staring at her phone. In comparison, if Charles has noticed the low quality of the cake, he doesn’t seem to care. The three of them sit in silence; at one point, John leans over and takes Frances’ fork, trying a bite of the cake, but he pulls a face and sets the fork back on the plate and sits back in his chair. As he’s taking a sip of his coffee, Charles gags on the piece of cake he’s just put in his mouth.

Frances looks up from her phone, “Are you dying?” she asks.

Charles spits the bite of cake into his hand and Frances wrinkles her nose, “Gross.” she says, looking back down at her phone and taking a sip of her coffee.

“What’s wrong?” John asks. The cake isn’t very good, but it’s not bad enough to warrant spitting it out, especially since Charles has already eaten half of the slice.

He dumps what he spit out on his plate and wipes his hand on his pajama pants, “There’s like - a thing.”

“Ew, what?” John says.

Charles picks at the mess, then pulls a wad of what looks like crumpled up paper out of it, “It’s paper?”

Frances looks up from her phone nervously.

“Paper?” John asks, “in a cake? Does it say something?”

Charles unfolds it as best he can and then flips it over, because he was holding it upside down. He reads it, and then his eyes get very wide and he says, “Oh my god.”

“What?” John asks.

“Oh my god.” Charles says again, smiling now.

“What? What does it say?” John insists, leaning towards him to try and read it.

Charles leans back as John leans towards him, beaming at him; John stares back at him expectantly, “What does it say, asshole?” he asks, amused.

Charles leans forward suddenly and meets John halfway, kissing him; Frances recoils from both of them, “You two are gross.” she says, but neither of them notice.

John breaks this kiss very quickly, since Frances is sitting right in front of them, “What are you doing?” he asks, a grin on his face.

“Yes,” Charles was leaning across the table to try and cup John’s face to kiss him.

“My daughter is right there,” John says, pushing his hands away, “yes what?”

Charles suddenly paused in his efforts. “Yes, to the note?” he slowly retreated back to his seat. 

John stares at him, “The note you almost ate?” he asks, amused.

Charles looks between them like someone had just kicked one of his dogs - or he had been the dog that just got kicked, “Did - is this a joke?”

John looks at Frances, and she skillfully avoids making eye contact with him, so he looks back at Charles, “I have no clue what you’re on about.” he tells him honestly.

“You’re kidding, right?” Charles says, holding the note up; John still can’t read it, so he raises his eyebrows at Charles and shakes his head, “it’s - you - John, if you’re messing with me, you can stop now, I - I already said yes.”

“Yes to  _ what?”  _ John insists.

Charles is quiet for a moment; he rereads the note and then sets it face down on the table and slides it towards John. As John picks it up, Frances sinks down at little bit in her seat. 

John reads the note, then his eyes go wide and his cheeks flush and he makes a very interesting noise of distress before looking back up at Charles, “I didn’t write this!” he says quickly.

Charles blushes even harder, clearly embarrassed, “Oh.” he says, looking away sheepishly, “um. Nevermind, then. I guess. Forget I said anything.”

John is still flustered, “I mean - I wouldn’t  _ not  _ \- I mean - I - I wouldn’t have asked you in a  _ cake.”  _ he looks at the note again, which only gets him more worked up, “you almost swallowed this!” he insists, “I know you better than that! I wouldn’t kill you if I was - if - if -  _ ahh!” _

John buries his face in his hands, the note still held between his index and his middle finger. There’s a long lapse of awkward silence, and then Charles looks back at John awkwardly, “Wait - if - who put the note in the cake, then?”

John looks up at him, “I thought you brought me that cake.” he says.

“I thought  _ you  _ made it,” Charles says, “that’s why I didn’t comment on how bad it was.”

Both of them turn and look at Frances at the same time, and she smiles at them innocently.

John reexamines the note in his hand, then frowns; he turns it to face her, “Francine, do you want to tell me who’s handwriting this looks like to you?” he asks bitterly.

The note reads:  _ Charles - I love you! Will you marry me? _

Frances swallows and averts her eyes, “That looks like the handwriting of a girl who made a bad judgement call while at her friend Philip’s house while possibly under the influence of something so she shouldn’t be held accountable for her actions?” she guesses.

“You got high and decided to propose to Charles  _ for me?!”  _ John snaps.

“Well it didn’t seem like you were ever going to do it!” Frances insists, “to be fair, I thought I was getting high and doing you a romantic favor!”

“You’re my daughter and you don’t need to do me romantic favors!” John says, “also - don’t get high!”

“You used to get high in college!” Frances insists.

“I’m a dumbass!” John says, “don’t be like me! I shouldn’t have to tell you not to smoke weed!”

“Well, if you didn’t want me to think it was cool you shouldn’t have been so relaxed about it in all your college stories!” Frances argues.

“You’re grounded!” John says, and Frances sinks down into her chair and groans, “I don’t care that you’re in college! You’re grounded for the rest of the week until you go back to school, for this - ” he holds the note up, “and for smoking weed!”

Frances doesn’t argue with him, at least, because that seems like a fair punishment for trying to stage a proposal to Charles. John picks his coffee cup up off the table and stands, making to leave the kitchen, but he stops behind Charles and leans down and presses a kiss to his cheek, “For the record, I do want to marry you, but I can orchestrate a better proposal than putting a note in a cake.”

He disappears into the living room and Charles follows him after a moment, still blushing very hard, leaving Frances alone in the kitchen with her poorly made cake.


End file.
